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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26636554">Gunners and Grudges</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerBreton/pseuds/GingerBreton'>GingerBreton</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Then I Met You [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action, Action/Adventure, Angst, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Flirting, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Pre-Relationship, if in doubt flirt, maccready is a tease, non-canon origin sole survivor, past domestic violence - very briefly referenced, sole survivor is not nate/nora, they're getting closer y'all</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:20:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,657</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26636554</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerBreton/pseuds/GingerBreton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you need my help, I'm there" - Famous last words if there ever were any.</p><p>Taking out the Gunners wasn't exactly the walk in the park they'd been hoping for, and to add insult to plenty of injuries, a radstorm leaves Ivy and MacCready stranded on Mass Pike.  In the aftermath of it all, Ivy and her mercenary might have grown a little closer-but getting them to admit it might be another issue entirely.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Robert Joseph MacCready/Female Sole Survivor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Then I Met You [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Gunners and Grudges</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For mid-December, the day had turned out positively autumnal;  milder than the Boston winters Ivy had come to know, with a breeze brisk enough to whip her hair across her face and still carried with it the damp of the morning mists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two hundreds years ago it would have been a beautiful day for a stroll through the woodland, to watch fall paint the leaves in an array of vibrant colours, to wrap up in jackets and scarves and know that a warm house and a hot bath were waiting for you at the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this was the apocalypse.  Foliage on plantlife was a rare commodity.  And they’d just spent the last five minutes being shot at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy and MacCready caught their breath, tucked in the cool shadows of the towering concrete supports of the once bustling Mass Pike Interchange.  The mercenary pulled his scarf tighter around his neck against a particularly biting gust and settled the brim of his cap a little higher—the day’s light was dull and they needed their eyes sharp.  He reloaded his sniper rifle, hands moving fluidly through years of practice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy sank back against the concrete, feeling a chill from the pillar run up her spine, but followed suit and reloaded her rifle—far less deftly than the practiced professional at her side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air still stank of ozone and when she blinked she could still see fading flashes of red from the laser weapons that’d struck their cover.  There were more Gunners than MacCready had estimated, she could see it etched in the concern on his brow and the change in his breathing—even though he tried to hide it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More Gunners down here, almost inevitably meant more Gunners up top.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite their apprehension, there was no ‘welcoming party’ when the northern elevator reached the highway, though the seeming calm after the battle below was still unnerving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wind battered with more force at this height, whipping from inland out towards the impressive distant vista of Boston’s ruins.  Beyond the peaks of the skyscrapers and out to sea, the clouds skulked far more ominously than the benign but thick layer that quilted the sky above them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there was no time for sightseeing.  Instead, they hunkered down on the elevator platform, listening intently for any signs of life—a patrol that they might have missed—but there was nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The familiar scent of cigarette smoke drifted past Ivy’s nose and was gone almost as fast, carried on the breeze.  MacCready shifted at her side, seemingly having lit his cigarette through muscle-memory alone since his eyes never left the southern end of the Interchange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy bit her tongue, her often sighed admonishments about the habit caught between her teeth just before they could slip past her lips.  MacCready was...</span>
  <em>
    <span>nervous</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Enough energy radiated off her partner to make her hair stand on end.  He fidgeted his way through the first cigarette and had lit a second before the nicotine finally seemed to bring some calm to his movements.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When enough time had passed that even she was confident they were alone, Ivy moved to step off the platform but MacCready caught her arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we in the army now?” she teased, masking her surprise at his desire to lead the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Up until recently it had very much been her role to go first, he’d been hired to watch her back after all.  Piper’s smirking on the subject teased her from the back of her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t start, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d only managed to coax a half-smile out of him, not the smirk she’d hoped for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though she had managed to lure out that damn nickname—the one it seemed he was never going to drop.  It used to taunt her in those moments when MacCready thought she was being </span>
  <em>
    <span>too good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or whenever he found an excuse to aim that crooked smile at her and say </span>
  <em>
    <span>“aren’t you worried you’re going to tarnish that halo”</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now there were times when the sincerity behind it dragged the air from her lungs, and they were caught looking at each other as though a secret had been let slip, but they didn’t know which of them it belonged to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready crept ahead, rifle at the ready, Ivy in his wake.  An arm would snap out to stop her if she moved up or out too far—he seemed determined to keep her in the safety and the shadows of the median.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shrouded in the shelter of the upper highway, their cover at least felt solid.  The dull sky made distant visibility difficult for anyone without a scope, but for a pair of patient snipers hugging the shadows, it could play to their advantage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You keep those eyes sharp,”  MacCready muttered, eyes fixed south.  “Tell me if you see </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> moving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d just reached a set of wooden steps that bridged the median, still buried within the shadows of the interchange’s upper level, when Ivy spotted the movement she’d been searching for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across a section of broken, windswept highway—only reachable by precarious looking plank bridges—were a number of barricades cobbled together out of junk and abandoned vehicles.  Old roadworks barriers had been painted in faded green and chalked with white skulls.  In the opposite lane, the husk of a burnt out truck had been adapted into a guard post—but it currently stood unmanned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The movement that’d caught her eye came from two domes that peeked over the outermost barriers.  Swivelling on a point, barrels trained on the road ahead of them, were a pair of heavy machine gun turrets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mac spotted them too, coming to stop at Ivy’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hunkered down, MacCready propped his gun against the steps and took Ivy’s combat rifle from her hands.  He spent a moment checking the terrain laid out in front of them from her position, with her weapon, and with a quick adjustment of her scope—and a side-eye that said </span>
  <em>
    <span>if you can build these things why the heck can’t you focus them properly</span>
  </em>
  <span>—he handed it back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I reckon we might be able to make them come to us.  Pick ‘em off as they head for the bridge.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>If </span>
  </em>
  <span>they make it that far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too wrapped up in the nervous anticipation of the fight to come, Ivy hadn’t noticed the temperature drop in the air around them until she felt the residual warmth from MacCready’s palms soaked into the wood of her rifle when she took it back from him.  It was a welcome breath of life for increasingly blue-tinged fingertips.  If winter ever did decide to settle across the Commonwealth, she was going to need to find some gloves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready picked his sniper rifle back up and viewed the set up down his own sights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the easy bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ever the teacher—when he was in the mood at least—, Mac leant close, cheek almost pressed to hers as he pointed out cover in much the same way she’d pointed out galaxies.  Any other day she might have felt a thrill at the proximity—probably even teased and flirted—but today her heartbeat thrummed for another reason, and her focus was trained solely on the camp up ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Class over, Ivy scraped her windswept hair back from her face, breathed a little more life into her chilled fingers, and settled herself as comfortably as possible against the wooden stairs—making sure she had enough movement to cover the breadth of the road ahead.  Next to her MacCready nodded his approval, his own rifle ready to mop up any Gunner who got too close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced across at her, a playful smirk finally toying at the corner of his mouth, “Age before beauty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy swore under her breath at him, and again when he leant out of the way of the sharp little kick she’d aimed at his shin.  She shook her head and turned her attention back to the road ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got this,” Ivy breathed—mostly to herself.  “It’ll be a walk in the park.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She caught a softer look out of the corner of her eye—perhaps even the urge to reach out and place a reassuring hand on her, but they were set up now and the show was about to begin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, angel—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay close, I know.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The camp was eerily quiet as Ivy and MacCready crept past the bodies of the recently fallen Gunners and through the gates, keeping low and to the shadows, watching for anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stretched out ahead of them, covering the pavement all the way to the bend in the highway, lay the Gunner waystation.  Rubble littered lanes were strewn with abandoned vehicles, tin shacks and barriers.  The one thing that seemed to be missing from this happy little homestead was any sign of life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d made it through the firefight relatively unscathed.  One Gunner had managed to land a shot on Mac while he seemed determined to act more as cover for her than to use cover properly for himself.  It was little more than a light burn across his forearm, and the shooter hadn’t lived to tell about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready tried to wave away her unspoken enquiry about his arm, instead tapping her rifle—a silent reminder to reload while they had a moment’s peace—but she dragged him back into the cover of one of the barriers and hastily dressed the wound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure you’re ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite his protest that it was nothing, he flinched as the antiseptic stung his raw skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ivy.” No ‘angel’ this time—as if the shadowy look under his cap wasn’t enough of a hint at his mood.  He caught her shoulder and jerked his head towards the seemingly empty camp. “You shouldn’t be worrying about me.  You should be concentrating on them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better I worry about you now while we’ve got a chance.”  Ivy returned his stubborn frown and tied off the bandage rather more roughly than was kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a huff they set off deeper into Gunner territory—irritated or not, MacCready still kept her tucked between him and the median.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were halfway through the silent camp when the next attack came.  Ivy’s world turned upside down—a heavy shove launched her over the median and flat onto her back, leather armour jamming painfully into her flesh.  Her indignant yell was cut short by the thick beam of bright red energy that cut through the air where she'd been standing seconds earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Assaultron!  Take cover!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready’s instruction was muffled from across the median as he ducked behind a burnt out car.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cover, right</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy was flat on her back and out in the open.  A glance around confirmed the only cover was back towards the camp entrance.  All she had to do was get along a narrow ledge of crumbling highway between the median and a 30ft drop.  Piece of cake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except she wasn’t alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deeper within the camp, half-hidden by the shell of an old bus, a red orb was trained on her position.  Dull sunlight glinted off pitch black metal as 7ft of robot unfolded itself from the shadows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wave of dread drenched Ivy in cold sweat.  One thing was for certain—if she made it out of this—she’d never look at KLEO in the same light again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrambling to her feet-- a false start if there ever was one, but track never was her forte—Ivy took off in the opposite direction, shaking legs carrying her as fast as they could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A whimper broke past her lips as a sudden gust sent her hair flying into her eyes.  Half-blinded, she plunged along the ledge, one hand clung desperately to the median as she ran, trying not to look down as cracked asphalt slipped beneath her feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It just had to be heights</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One glance down and she’d probably puke, so she kept her head up and stumbled on.  Anything was better than looking back at the way the assaultron’s posture changed as it readied to chase her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gunfire echoed behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound was impossible to place, bouncing off the abandoned cars as she sprinted—but it was ballistic, not laser.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please be Mac</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  There was no time to look—the assaultron was closing in, the sound of metal slamming into concrete was gaining, and she had no place to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy dived behind a section of barricade, belly crawling across blood splattered concrete into one of the shacks overhanging the drop.  A metallic fist smashed into the spot she disappeared from—the strike’s deafening shockwave shook her steel shelter right down to its rivets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands clamped tightly over her mouth, Ivy sucked in a shaky breath and sank back into the sparse cover of some boxes.  Eyes watering, she watched and waited for the telltale predatory red glow to find her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HEY!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The assaultron had stalked her into the creaking lean-to—stepping close enough to Ivy that she could see the top of its head over her hiding place—only for bullets to ricochet off its back and punch through the shelter’s thin metal walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s right.  Playtime’s over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mac.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That tone—disdain and bravado in equal measure—she’d learnt it was his ‘I’m going to do something reckless and probably get my ass handed to me’ voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God love ya, partner, but I don’t think machines give a shi—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The robot moved away, and for one glorious moment Ivy could breathe again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was short lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her stomach dropped as cords of red laser began to wrap around the assaultron’s face—the attack that would’ve sliced through her if it wasn’t for MacCready’s quick reactions, was now aimed straight at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hit from that would be more than even a self-proclaimed radroach could survive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heck of a team…we’re a heck of a team,” she breathed, foot beating a staccato twitch almost as fast as her heart.  And teams do things together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reckless fucking things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she could risk second thoughts, Ivy burst from behind cover, throwing her weight towards the assaultron; small as she was, a shoulder at full pelt was enough to unbalance the thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twisted and staggered by her strike, the robot fell back towards the drop—concrete creaked and buckled under its weight.  The last Ivy saw of it was the charged laser beam cutting straight into the upper highway as the assaultron dropped out of sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Small chunks of rubble and dust drizzled down around her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence settled on the camp again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heart caught in her throat and breath fluttering in her chest, Ivy turned to look for her partner, but all she met was the butt of a laser rifle slamming into her jaw, knocking her to all-fours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iron coated her tongue as she reeled.  Her jaw was already swelling.  Crimson from a split lip oozed down her chin.  She looked up, blinking at her attacker.  Head in a familiar daze, she scrabbled on the ground for her rifle, only to take a boot to the stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wheezing, Ivy spat blood onto the pavement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were meant to be keeping you alive, you thieving vaultie bitch.”  Her attacker bit down on the words like a dog tearing meat from a bone.  “But look what you did to my fucking men.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thieving vaultie...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Barnes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looked like she made an impression at the Third Rail after all.  Amazing how liberating a couple of hundred caps could foster a grudge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bodies across the median probably hadn't done anything to improve their rapport.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barnes dug a meaty fist into her hair and dragged her to her feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clinging desperately to his wrist to stop him ripping a chunk out at the roots, a strangled cry broke past Ivy’s bleeding lips as her feet almost left the ground.  For a moment she spiralled—eyes scrunched tightly shut and mind reliving the pain of Ryan ‘showing’ her her mistakes like a dog that’d soiled the carpet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t the man who’d controlled her life two centuries before glaring back at her.  It was a stranger; a man she’d met once in a bar, who, along with his partner, had knocked her into a wall for ‘getting in their way’, who’d lost his caps to sly fingers for the privilege.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fear in her chest curdled into anger.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>How fucking dare he</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ivy cooed, letting a malice-filled smirk play on her lips—the kind she knew pushed buttons.  “Did I break your girlfriend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She spat the excess blood from her mouth and glared defiantly back at the Gunner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?”  Barnes leant in close, ladling as much menace as he could muster into his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said…”—Ivy leant closer still with a venomous hiss—“You hit like a molerat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her nose blossomed blood as she smashed her forehead into his as hard as she could, but it was his nose that gave a satisfying snap as they staggered apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck this.”  Blood streaming from his broken nose, Barnes raised his laser rifle.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>CRACK.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Instinct told Ivy what that noise meant—she was diving before her mind caught on, a huge section of the upper highway falling behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barnes didn’t have time to make a sound.  When the dust settled, in the spot where he’d stood there was just a mound of concrete, oozing blood from between the cracks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Walk in the park,”  Ivy coughed, wiping the blood from her nose with the back of a dusty hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shakily she retrieved her rifle, then Barnes’ as a second thought, and steadied herself on the median.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The upper camp was a mess.  There must have been more Gunners—</span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span>—but now there were just a few more scattered bodies.  An array of immaculate headshots.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>MacCready must have been through here</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carried on shaky legs, Ivy continued up the highway past burnt out cars and the smoking remains of turrets until the road began to curve and her ears—still ringing from the collapsing rubble—could make out yelling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quickly reloading, she hurried her pace but kept low as she weaved through the vehicles, fearful of another ambush.  She didn’t start to sprint until the shouting abruptly halted—the sudden silence draining all the warmth from her skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across a slalom of cars, debris and barriers, she saw them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lone Gunner stood cocooned in a rusty mismatched shell of power armour, the laughter on his lips just reaching her ears across the distance.  And—</span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>—clamped by the throat, feet dangling above the ground, was MacCready—clawing furiously at the metal gauntlet, knuckles already bloodied from striking the armour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic fighting to close her throat, Ivy sucked in a breath, Winlock’s head in her sights and squeezed the trigger; sudden pain on her inhale sent her shot wide, striking off the armour’s pauldron instead.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> Barnes and that well placed kick—the surprise jolt of pain from her bruised stomach nearly doubled her over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she raised her head, the Gunner was looking straight at her.  Even shrouded in the shadows of the upper highway and the blackening clouds, she didn’t need a scope to read the malicious glee in his expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You come for this?”  Winlock bellowed and, to her horror, shook MacCready like a ragdoll.  “You made a mistake hiring him, but I’ll make sure you learn from it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heart fluttering in her ribcage like a moth trying to smash itself through a lit window, Ivy forced the sensation down and scrambled to kneel on top of the car she’d used for cover.   She kept her gaze fixed on the Gunner and not—</span>
  <em>
    <span>no matter what</span>
  </em>
  <span>—on the shade of purple MacCready was turning as his eyes became unfocussed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One more missed headshot, one squeeze and Mac could be dead, but where else—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory came like a flicker of sunlight breaking through the clouds—or perhaps dancing off the immaculate armour of one paladin as he grumbled about a laser shot to his elbow almost knocking out the hydraulics to his gauntlet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get </span>
  <em>
    <span>the fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> away from my mercenary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fluid burst from the soft section of the power armour’s inner elbow, Winlock’s grip instantly released.  MacCready crumpled to the ground like a wet towel at the Gunner’s feet.  Purple.  Barely conscious.  But breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lowered her weapon, and stood to meet the glare of the Gunner fumbling to fix his armour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m paid up through next week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The infuriated man sucked deep, angry breaths through gritted teeth as he came to the realisation that she’d rendered that arm useless.  But, armed or not, she didn’t seem to be enough of a threat to draw his focus from the mercenary at his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, princess.  I’ll get to you in a minute,” he crowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winlock loomed over MacCready and raised an armoured foot above his chest, ready to stamp down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If she couldn’t get that man away from her partner, he was as good as dead—so if Winlock refused to see her as a threat, then she’d sure as hell make herself an annoyance that had to be dealt with.  Immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a game of operation, Ivy prepared to stick in her tweezers and go hunting for a nerve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funny.”  Ivy dragged Barnes’ laser rifle off her back and threw it into the no-man’s land between them.    “Your friend said something similar before he splattered across the highway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The skitter of plastic and metal on the asphalt stopped Winlock in his tracks, even at a distance he seemed to recognise the weapon.  He stepped away from MacCready, the full focus of his rage now directed at her.  And she intended to keep it that way—time to rile that bastard up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got some pretty big balls for such a little girl,” Winlock snarled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This'd be easier than she expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy lowered her weapon and shifted her weight onto her hip—driving the tension from her shoulders, she settled into a disdainful slouch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only with yours as a point of comparison,”  she called back down to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit back the pain in her lip and smiled before giving her nails a cursory glance over—ignoring the amount of her own blood that mingled with the dirt on them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lazily removing the magazine from her combat rifle, she checked the remaining ammo—18 rounds ought to do the trick—milking every second to bring the Gunner’s temper closer to the boil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like I’ve got 4 shots left,” Ivy smirked, clicking the magazine back into place.  “Pretty sure even an amateur like me could take you down before you got here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winlock’s eyes flicked between her and MacCready, all smug self-satisfaction gone.  Caught in a fog of rage he struggled to decide who he wanted to destroy more—he half reminded her of the deathclaw in Concord picking which raider to eat first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except this time she wasn’t taking potshots from a rooftop, she was staring the fucker down and might as well be waving a flare.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Got a rep for being crazy… you know, so tightly wound you’d think they were a cult or something...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the matter, big man?  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Scared</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The final straw broke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Gunner smiled sadistically down at the wheezing mercenary at his feet, before turning to her.  The lamp on his helmet flickered to life in the gloom as he dragged it onto his head.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cheater.  No headshots today apparently</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Then, much like the assaultron but with all the grace of a refrigerator, Winlock charged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy stayed rooted to the spot—this time through choice, not fear.  It was hard to keep her cool when every deep breath sent a ripple of pain through her abdomen, but that smug bastard’s parting expression gave her more than enough of a distraction to focus on as she lined up her shots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With shallow breaths, she fired on the exhale—every light pull of her trigger was timed between thunderous footfalls which rippled through the highway and bounced the car beneath her feet.  The man was a mobile wall running straight at her.  A thousand times easier to hit than a bloatfly or a feral, but packing that much more punch if he got to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When he got to her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And what happened then, if she ended up a broken mess at the bottom of an old toll road?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would anyone keep looking for Shaun?  Would someone take the picture of the Carrolls back to Codsworth and tell him she’d failed?  Or would she just be left to rot—her valuables picked clean by scavvers and sold to the nearest trader, with her body left as carian for the ferals and wild dogs...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Focus</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was always Mac’s voice that scolded her when she floundered in a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Day two of their little partnership and she’d cursed him every which way from Sunday for making her practice shooting bloatflies by the reservoir instead of doing the damn job she’d hired him for.  He’d smirked his way through her tantrum until a mouthful of bloatfly gunk had frayed his temper.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> voice, the one right after he spat it out, all rough and right in her ear, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> was how her mind told her to get her shit together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time—if she got to hear it again—she’d not give him a sour look that he couldn’t fathom for the criticisms he’d ladled at her in her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By now enough shots had been fired for even Winlock to work out she’d lied; he let out an enraged bellow, lowering his head and gathering speed like a metallic bull.  The light from his helmet swung closer as he bound—illuminating the dull highway in wide sweeps between them, catching in her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy let out her held breath and took a knee, the position more stable against the increasingly violent vibrations of the highway as the Gunner ploughed through barriers to close the gap between them.  She reloaded with more grace under pressure than she’d ever managed previously—pity nobody was around to see it—and kept firing, eyes trained on the gaps in the plating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winlock was within ten feet of her when she heard a metallic </span>
  <em>
    <span>ting</span>
  </em>
  <span> and a hiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The power armour around the charging Gunner shuddered mid-stride, the back springing open, all power gone to the limbs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard the thud and splatter from the second shot more than the distant firing of MacCready’s sniper rifle.  It hit home as the suit’s momentum carried it to the ground, ploughing a furrow in the asphalt, Winlock still caught inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An ill-advised glance down revealed the helmet held more viscous fresh crimson lining than head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready never missed his mark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment she thought the collapse of the power armour was still shaking through the car, but no, she was trembling.  Her whole body wracked with shocked tremors, cold sweat she’d never noticed begin, glued her vault suit to her back and her heart almost hurt from how hard it pounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Holy shit, that was close</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy let out a shuddering breath and flopped back onto her ass on the car roof, watching as her former Gunner walked slowly towards her, a hand rubbing his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If her legs had allowed it, and she’d allowed a little selfishness to take over, she’d have run to MacCready, wrapped her arms around him if only to prove to herself that he was in one piece—that he was safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But knees like jelly kept her trapped on the car roof, and gave her time to watch him climb carefully across the median.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes might have been unfocussed, but his muscles were pulled tight, like a piano wire stretched dangerously close to snapping;  his shoulders were locked—like they were waiting to take a blow, the tendons on his neck stood out in solid ridges and his jaw was clenched shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d seen him tense before, but this was different, even to Forest Grove—a different ghost lingering in his features.  He looked haunted and exhausted.  And not like a person ready to be held unbidden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She called him instead—in a tone so forcibly light it could’ve been snatched by the breeze and whisked halfway to Boston before he heard it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friendly bunch you used to run with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you think the welcoming parties are rough, you should see the leaving ones...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice echoed back across the highway, roughened by his injuries—the halfway humour hollow at its centre.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It couldn’t be later than mid-afternoon but the December sun was fighting a losing battle against the thick grey cloud cover.  Shadows on the highway were growing deep and long.  The camp, now little more than a smoking ghost town, was silent other than the sound of MacCready’s footsteps as he picked his way through the slalom of vehicles and across piles of rubble, to stop at the hood of the car where Ivy sat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Passing Winlock, he cast a venomous look down at the Gunner’s carcass where he still bled into his power armour, before looking up at Ivy—eyes sweeping over every inch of her: the injuries, the dirt, the shaking she was trying so hard to control—like she was some kind of mirage or ghost herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Up close, the mercenary looked beyond exhausted, even his usually bright and youthful eyes seemed to have aged in the course of an afternoon.  The swagger in his gait had been reduced to little more than a limp—his left hip less willing to take his weight than the right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready’s knuckles strained against raw grazes as he flicked his lighter into life and took a deep drag of his cigarette—eyes moving from her to cast about the wreckage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When those blue eyes, which seemed to bury themselves deeper in fatigue every time she saw them, found their way back to Ivy’s, MacCready offered her a lopsided smile—which struggled to make it further than his lips—and a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that went without a hitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy took the offered hand eagerly and let him slide her down the windshield to the hood of the car, stopping just shy of crashing into him.  She rocked her forehead forward to rest on his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely seamless,”  she replied with a small laugh—breathy and half-manic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy drank in the familiar scent of smoke and musty leather, and the unfamiliar ones of spilt oil and hydraulic fluid; unpleasant as the new odours were, she’d breath them in all day if it meant she’d hit her mark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weight of Mac’s chin coming to rest on her crown was reassuring despite the dull ache in her head.  Warm breath from a long sigh mingled with tired laughter ruffled her hair, as rough fingers brushed white locks back behind her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime—though it couldn’t really have been more than ten minutes—her heartbeat soothed and her breathing calmed and the fog of panic began to lift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You take me to the nicest places.”  She kept her relief at being reunited carefully buried against his chest.  “I wonder if they have a gift shop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That did make him laugh—one that dissolved into coughs as his throat protested, but it brought the spark back into his eyes.  It was hard to say if their laughter had shaken their nerves loose or possibly just buried them deeper.  Whichever it was, the ground was starting to feel more stable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t we go see?” He helped her down off the hood.  “Wonder if they have any snowglobes... I’d settle for a few hundred caps though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about an ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I took out the Gunners and all I got was this lousy blackeye</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ t-shirt?”  Ivy smiled affectionately up at the clouds of bruises gathering above his rather bloodshot ocean-blue right eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before investigating the various shacks that littered the upper camp, Ivy crouched down by Winlock—careful to avoid looking into the power armour’s helmet—and rifled unceremoniously through his pockets;  they yielded little more than a couple of caps and some fusion cells.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was a good shot, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Less disgusted by the gore—but possibly more so by the occupant—MacCready stooped  to examine the damage to the power armour, that he couldn’t have been fully conscious to appreciate in the moment.  He wiped a hand across the leaked hydraulic fluid and absent mindedly rubbed it between his fingertips, a wry smile played on his lips as he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy, trying not to beam, stood, dusted off her knees and set off towards the nearest shack.  “Thank you,”  she answered when she was confident he’d not see her smile and swell of pride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long for MacCready to catch her up—the swagger in his walk starting to outweigh the limp again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, did you see my shot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Talking of pride—she could feel the returned cockiness coat his words and purr up against her ear.  Nothing cheered her mercenary up like bragging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he hadn’t earned it.  It was an incredible shot—knocking out a fusion core and saving her life all at once like it was no more difficult than patting his head and rubbing his stomach.  Which, incidentally, he couldn’t do-- a few drinks and a lot of laughter one night had taught them that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If she’d been in the position of casual observer to the whole situation, she might even have had to suppress a mini-swoon—a worrying reaction in itself—but she’d been rather occupied with making her peace with the afterlife at the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No need to feed that ego so easily though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which shot was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fusion core,” MacCready pouted.  Not entirely decided if she was teasing or not, he sped his pace to get a look at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh was that you?  I thought it might have been me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can it have been you?  It’s on the goddamn back.”  His frown didn’t match the laugh tugging at his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I say?”  Ivy sauntered backwards away from him, arms held up in a shrug, matching the swagger in his step.  “You’re messin’ with the best.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Under the somehow dim and yet blinding light of a single lazily swinging lightbulb, Ivy finished washing the blood and dirt from her hands and face—the vault suit would take more attention than she could manage in an enemy camp with a single can of purified water.  Same went for the pink stained ends of her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She examined the damage;  the bruise on her left jaw was already up, it didn’t look as bad as it felt—if that was any kind of bonus.  Her split bottom lip was a different matter.  It was deep—two hundred years ago it would have been a job for stitches, but for now she hissed through gritted teeth while she cleaned it as best she could, then tried not to touch it.  She’d already batted MacCready away from it twice, determined not to cause a fuss when she was sure he must be hurting more than she was.  It’d wait ‘til they got back to Dr Sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing a rumble in the distance, her first thought was that more of the upper highway had started to slip, and if they weren’t careful they’d end up buried like Barnes.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Barnes, who’d wanted to keep her alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Those words prickled at the back of her neck like the eyes of a predator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grabbed the Grognak she’d found by the sink and stepped back out into the light—if you could call it that anymore—the sky was hanging dark and low, and there was a distinctly thick quality to the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready was staring out towards Lake Cochituate, both their packs—chock full with everything of value they could carry—resting at his feet.  His eyes narrowed as he watched the building clouds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like we’ve got a storm coming,” he grumbled, careful to blow his own cloud of smoke away as Ivy came to stand at his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those things’ll kill you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She plucked the cigarette from between his fingers, and leant forward to rest on the barrier that separated her from the 30ft drop.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vertigo be damned</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His protests died on his lips when she took a long drag—the silent camp fraying her nerves and playing with her mind more than she could handle without a distraction, something to keep her hands busy and drug her pulse into complacency.  Wind whipped the stinging smoke back into her watering eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready watched her, brows drawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Barnes said something to me.  Before he died.”  Ivy took another drag and stared out across the lake to where another low rumble rattled the distant sky.  The first smatterings of rain, carried on a rising breeze began to fleck her cheeks.  “That they were supposed to keep me alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mercenary took off his hat and dragged his fingers roughly through sandy brown hair.  His foot tapped a nervous rhythm on the pavement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winlock...before you shot him.”  He flashed a smile—a meager attempt to buoy her spirits—before it slid back into solemnity. “It sounded like the Quincy Gunners were looking for Minutemen.  For Garvey’s lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How the hell—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shoved the cigarette back into his hand and paced—mind reeling.  Those were the bastards who’d hunted the Sanctuary settlers.  Who’d betrayed and killed Preston’s friends.  How the hell did they know who she was?  How the hell did Winlock and Barnes make the connection?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Minutemen had just started recruiting again.  Settlers were finally starting to believe in their cause, to actually help each other.  This was not a conversation she was looking forward to having with Preston.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’d like to leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another rumble chased across the horizon—closer than before.  There was an odd quality to the sound, something tinny, like thunder played through a crackling speaker system.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready stamped out the only half-smoked cigarette and turned his frown from her to the sky—eyes flicking between the shapes of the building clouds and the encroaching horizon as the visibility to the south west began to drain.  A deep breath in seemed to confirm his suspicions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, let’s get out of here before that hits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throwing their packs on their backs, Ivy and MacCready set off at a run through the empty camp.  They’d barely crossed the plank bridge headed for the north elevator when a louder rumble came, echoing like a dropped sheet of metal in the distance, it was unmistakable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mac cursed quietly under his breath, hopping across the median to get a look out towards Forest Grove.  Ivy followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in the minute it took her to get to the edge of the highway, the air had grown thick and dark—the last of the light had been sucked from the sky.  The visibility grew rapidly poorer, like a thick sea mist rolling in except it was coming from the south west—and sea mist didn’t have an oily feel to it that you could taste on your tongue.  And it certainly didn’t crackle with electricity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready shook his head and passed her the binoculars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sight made the hairs stand up on the back of Ivy’s neck.  Down on the submerged streets of the sunken village, visible even through the rapidly dimming light, there was movement.  Too much movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently it was no exaggeration that ferals got all riled up when radstorms hit.  Their groaning cries, just as excitable as when they laid eyes on prey, were carried up to her on increasing flurries of wind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sight of the village was lost as the grey sky met the gathering fog and took on an acrid green, but she continued to stare out, binoculars slack in her hand, still hearing the cries from below.  Memories of their recent feral fight tugging at her mind, she fearfully wondered how many creatures still lurked within the abandoned buildings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another rumble, much closer this time, shook the concrete beneath her feet as her Gieger counter began to crackle an incessant warning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t going to last long if we don’t get out of this radiation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A firm arm wrapped tight around Ivy’s waist dragged her away from the edge and towards one of the abandoned buses near the elevator.  Her stomach twinged at the touch—there must’ve been a heck of a bruise brewing where Barnes had stuck the boot in.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The old bus MacCready suggested provided pretty damn good shelter; almost all the windows were intact and, once he’d wedged the doors shut, the wind stopped howling through like a banshee.  There was even a mattress—somebody had obviously squatted here in desperate times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy stood at the rain lashed window staring out through the oily glass towards Boston.  The view had been reduced to nothing more than a green haze of roiling clouds, the skyline itself only becoming visible when acid green lightning chased across the sky, illuminating an even more alien world for one terrifying second at a time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Radstorms of this strength seemed to be confined to the north east coast, MacCready had told her once while they were holed up in the basement of an abandoned building waiting for her wrist to stop wildly clicking.  He seemed to have as strong a dislike for them as she did, not that he’d admit to being afraid;  he just glared at the sky for having the audacity and pulled his cap down low as though it’d keep his hair from falling out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How the hell did these things even work?  Were they worse in the winter or the summer?  Did they blow in like the Atlantic winter storms she knew from growing up in the UK—viscously lashing the island every couple of weeks right through the cold weather.  Or maybe they were like the massive thunderstorms on the plains that rose up when the weather was warmer, dragging the radiation high up into the sky and dumping it across the Commonwealth and beyond?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that it’d make any difference other than remembering when to pack extra Rad-X and an umbrella.  But it took her mind of the clicking for a couple of minutes at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like we’re dug in for the night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready slunk up the bus and leant against the window next to her, checking the time on her pipboy.  He was right.  It was getting dark and the storm showed no signs of letting up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eager to prove his point, thunder that sounded like the corrugated iron roof of the world being torn off by an angry deathclaw shook the bus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be ok though, right?  We’re far enough away from the camp…in case anyone else arrives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thoughts of being shipped off to Quincy had kept her from being able to settle since they’d holed up in the bus—shifting from window to window in a fruitless watch for movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winlock and Barnes weren’t the sharing types.”  Reading her faster than if he got his hands on a copy of Grognak vs Skullpocalypse, MacCready tentatively smoothed a palm up her spine—probably feeling every knot her worrying had tied in the process.  “They wouldn’t give away those kind of juicy details to anyone else.  And any patrols dumb enough to get caught out in this weather...feral food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not entirely convinced, Ivy wrapped her arms around herself and changed her vigil to the south—her face illuminated green as a lightning strike blew the sails off one of the camp’s wind turbines in the distance. </span>
  
  <span>MacCready moved away to go through their haul—the sudden loss of contact left a chill where his hand had been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, where’s that medkit of yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squatted down to rifle through her pack, pulling out gumdrops—which he pocketed—the Grognak she’d liberated from the Gunners’ bathroom—which he nodded at approvingly before throwing it over to the mattress, and a couple of Nuka Colas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you hurt?”  Ivy turned, attention drawn temporarily from the storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had her answer just from looking at his blackeye and bruised throat—the husky rasp was still raw in his voice—but the oblivious question had tripped off her tongue before she could stop it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but you are.”  MacCready caught her off guard, reaching out and placing the flat of his hand against her stomach—right on the bruise—drawing a gasp from her lips.  “Knew I felt you flinch out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were supposed to be looking for shelter,” she blanched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Folding her arms, she leant back against the window—suddenly concerned how many other tells she gave away with just a moment’s contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s called multitasking, sweetheart,” he scolded dryly.  “I was looking at you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was just a kick.  A bruise.  It’s nothing major.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna let me take a look at it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robert Joseph MacCready, you’re going to have to buy me dinner before you get me out of this vault suit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How does cold noodles sound?”  His scolding cracked into a smirk as he waved a single tub of pre-cooked noodles up at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you wouldn’t even make it to first base.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her laugh faltered with a stab of pain from her lip.  Damn thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready stood swiftly, unexpectedly, the rough pad of his forefinger caught under Ivy’s chin to tilt it up.  They were a few inches separated in height—nothing a good pair of stilettos wouldn’t solve—but this close-to, that finger was the only way to trap her with that inescapable gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> close—close enough that a gentle exhale tickled her lashes and fluttered her eyes closed.  It wasn’t that they hadn’t been close before.  They were close all the time, just... not like this.  Not with her back pressed against a wall, heart suddenly boxing so desperately against her chest it’d be a miracle if he didn’t hear it—because she couldn’t hear a damn thing else; not the thunder, not the creaking of the blasted forest below them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was caught staring wide-eyed up into a knowing blue gaze and a playful smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jab.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh you dickhead!” she yelped as the anaesthetic in the stimpak instantly began to numb her lip.  “I should have let them strangle you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All your grimacing was just making it worse.”  MacCready snickered at her indignant glare and twisted her head so he could get a better look at the slowly healing lip.  “And if you’d just let me deal with it in the first place, I wouldn’t have to sneak it up on you.  You’re worse than— worse than a kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grumbled ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>ass’</span>
  </em>
  <span> under her breath, but that was about all she could manage with a numb fat lip.  Ivy rolled her eyes and sulked instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Idiot.  What did you think he was going to do?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So.” He tutted as she tried to slink off, catching her face and tilting her head back—thumbs braced against her nose, presumably checking it wasn’t broken—she could’ve told him it wasn’t if he’d asked.  “Paid up ‘til next week, hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped away to lean on the opposite side of the bus, his eyes trained on hers.  Was this what it was like to be caught in his crosshairs?  So easily trapped and appraised—though most people wouldn’t have the luxury of knowing it was happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy knew full well exactly what she’d shouted at that bastard Gunner—and that it was exactly what she’d been denying to Piper.  She’d also rather hoped that lack of oxygen to the brain might’ve wiped the claim from MacCready’s memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a funny time to ask for your paycheck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I was thinking...how about I give you this back?”  MacCready let her stew with a slight smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He produced a tin box, roughly taped shut around the middle, that rattled metallically when he handed it over.  “And that way you don't have to stand in front of crazy Gunners to keep your investment safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy unwrapped the tape and popped the box open.  She didn’t need to count them, she could guess—two hundred caps:  the amount she’d hired him for in Goodneighbor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her stomach dropped.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Silly girl.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Cold damp gusts rattled at the doors, mocking her with their whispers—chasing away the colour from her cheeks, they left nothing but the ambient green of the storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d assumed too much.  Never stopped to listen to her head over...anything else; to that little voice that reminded her what happened last time she followed a man on his word and a promise.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Had she really read MacCready so wrong?  Seen a friend—maybe something more—when it’d been nothing more than business?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Business that was obviously now concluded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy swallowed thickly and tried to keep the hurt from her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was just business.  Things would go back to the way they were before.  She’d find Preston, or Piper, or—</span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span>—another mercenary and they’d help her find Shaun…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are—does this mean you’re going back to Goodneighbor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready spluttered, face dropping momentarily slack as he stared at her, mouth popping open and closed like a landed fish—it’d be endearing if she wasn’t holding her breath and waiting for goodbye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.  Hell—heck no, I’m not going anywhere, angel.”   The words tumbled out of his mouth when he eventually found them, panicked brows drawn together as his gaze danced across her face.  “I owe you for this—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t.  You really don’t.”  Ivy hurriedly tried to clip the tin shut again and press it back into his hands.  He just closed them over hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sticking around ‘cause you paid me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sincerity in his tone left her feeling utterly exposed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She froze—they both did—eyes not entirely sure where it was safe to look.  Into each others’ was a no-go.  This was uncharted territory and she didn’t trust herself not to pick a wrong cue and do something utterly humiliating.  All she could hope for in the moment was that her hands didn’t start sweating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A swipe of a rough thumb across hers sent a hot wave of goosebumps up her arms, and loaned her the momentary bravery to look up at MacCready through dark lashes before she slipped back behind her well practiced lines of defence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still expecting a 50/50 split on future pay though, hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“50/50?  60/40 more like.  You’re working with the best.” Back to cocksure, MacCready followed suit into his comfort zone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want to forfeit some of your pay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Robert</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the Minutemen would gladly take a donation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy quirked a brow and smiled at the petulant frown that lined the mercenary’s brow when his given name got dragged into play.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why am I sticking around again?” he groused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Buoyed by a little bravado of her own, or perhaps the urge to see if she could exact some sweet revenge for his earlier teasing, Ivy pushed up onto tiptoes so she was almost nose to nose with MacCready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keeping her eyes focussed on his lips—the trick lay in not catching his eye again, or she’d be in the same predicament as before—she murmured,  “I’m not sure... you never told me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took the opportunity to slip the capstash from his grip and stow it in her pack.  Behind her, MacCready let out a breathy laugh and shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Debts settled, and only the occasional awkward glance lingering between them, Ivy and MacCready finished setting up for a night stuck on Mass Pike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The evening had dulled even more around them now that the frequency of acid green flashes seemed to have diminished, which meant the pipboy was going to be their main source of light—exchanging one green glow for another.  The radio gave off nothing but static, so they were left to the sounds of the storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about those noodles?”  MacCready suggested, rubbing a knot out of the back of his neck when they’d finally set up.  He’d settled himself on the mattress, back against the wall of the bus.  He caught her raised brow, laughed and added.  “I promise not to try and get you undressed.  Not unless you asked nicely”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy rolled her eyes, but sat in the spot he’d patted at his side.  “You promise not to stab me in the face again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise,” he chuckled through a mouthful of Diamond City’s speciality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only the one pot of noodles had made it through the firefight unharmed—MacCready’s had become a casualty of their battle with the Gunners, one of the compartments of his pack now lined with cold broth and slimy noodles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mac?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You promise you’ll stay close?” she added after a moment, tentatively glancing across at the mercenary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready lowered his chopsticks mid-bite and gave her a faint smile, “Promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He even looked like he meant it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took the chopsticks he offered and used them to snatch up a mouthful of cold noodles from their shared bowl.  Taka’s fare was not designed to last, especially not unheated.  She gulped it down quickly, barely chewing-- that would involve unleashing whatever flavour boiling water apparently masked.  If she had to hazard a guess, it’d be wallpaper paste.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy made a mental note to speak to Codsworth when she was next back in Sanctuary.  See if between them they couldn’t work out how to make fresh noodles that tasted of-- well anything better than this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready happily chewed away at her side, flicking through the newly acquired Grognak as he did.  The taste didn’t seem to put him off at all, although half a lifetime of smoking and wasteland starvation may have made taste less of an issue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t the best at sharing; perpetually hungry and far more dextrous with his chopsticks than she was, he’d perfected the art of snatching noodles out of her grip when she wasn’t paying attention, then grinning in a way she couldn’t get mad at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Good job she didn’t have much of a stomach that evening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another mouthful was all she could manage before passing the bowl back to MacCready—he already had his mouthful of the offering by the time he remembered to ask ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>you sure?’</span>
  </em>
  <span>  You’d think the guy had never eaten a day in his life.  She dug in her pack for some gumdrops to take the taste away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The geiger counter continued to click an anxiety-ridden dinner concerto, accompanied by the slurping of noodles and flipping of pages at her side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’d finished every scrap in the bowl, MacCready cracked his neck and his knuckles with a wince—stopping short at his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it hurting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’d been just over a week since Ivy patched up his injuries from Forest Grove, and even though Dr Sun seemed to approve of the job she’d done, Mac hadn’t let her see the wounds again since.  Who knew what he’d managed to do between their day’s activities and his midweek trip to Goodneighbor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve not torn something have you?  Do you need me to look?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, angel.  See,” he drawled and rolled his shoulders to prove it—ignoring the click—then stretched his arm up above his head.  “Just a little stiff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let it drop back around her shoulders and dragged her in a little closer—cocky grin unmistakeable in the green glow of the pipboy when she laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know they had a name for that move in my day.”  Ivy teased, carefully biting her lip to hold back her smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That just makes it a classic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy settled closer, pulling her knees up to her chest, she let her head rest on his shoulder.  Outside the green had left the sky and the clicking had finally subsided from her pipboy—leaving a void where it’d become little more than white noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sick of the green glow, Ivy switched off her torch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The radstorm had dissipated into regular thunder.  Clean flashes of white lightning danced across blue-black clouds, fewer and farther between than the preceding storm.  The rumbles, low and comforting compared to their radioactive counterparts, had again become less frequent as the storm finally drifted over Boston and out into the Atlantic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mac?”  Ivy ventured, half drowsy and caught in her own head.  “If something happened—to me, I mean—would you make sure that somebody knows to keep looking for Shaun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing’s going to happen to you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mac</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, of course I will, angel.  But nothing’s go—”  His words tripped on guilt mid-sentence when his sad blue eyes drifted across her face, taking in the bruises, and the lip, and remnants of blood in her hair.  “Not again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy twined her finger with the hand draped across her shoulder and turned her head to give him a soft smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not your job to stop me getting into fistfights with big burly men.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it was, I’d be failing.  What is that?  Twice now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t my bodyguard.  You just gave me a refund, remember.”  Ivy tilted her head to graze a soft kiss across MacCready’s bruised knuckles—feeling the muscles in his arm tense momentarily before he dragged her a little closer still, watching her out of the corner of his eye.  “We’re a team… if that still works for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laid her head back down on his shoulder and kept her eyes forward, afraid she might do something even more foolish if she looked at him.  Instead she stared out of the cracked windows as moonlight and the first glimpses of stars tried to break their way through the slowly thinning clouds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d say it does.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!</p><p>This one came along a little quicker than anticipated, I had been working on it while doing my last one but it came together extra quick.  I guess I'd been stewing on Mass Pike and the radstorm for ages as one of my long intended one shots.  </p><p>I've not written large sections of action in quite a long time, so this was a bit of a mental workout.  </p><p>I don't care if I'm the only one, I'm counting down the fics as Mac and Ivy get closer, and I for one wish that I could write it faster XD  Alternate title for this fic:   "Like you wouldn't even make it to first base,"  Ivy said.  LIKE A LIAR.</p><p>My intention for the next fic is to pick up where this one left off, but I'll probably not have a chance to get anything shared until November because I'll be spending October concentrating on art over on tumblr (@third-rail-vip).</p></blockquote></div></div>
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